


your body remembers

by radialarch



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, M/M, POV Second Person, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 23:07:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1582733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radialarch/pseuds/radialarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Cold War AU]  HYDRA finds the frozen body of Captain America and turns him into an asset. He soon finds himself fighting a Soviet assassin called the Winter Soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your body remembers

**Author's Note:**

> All the love to [Sara](/users/fallingvoices), who always makes me want to write better.

The man takes your face in his hands and tells you, “You’re a symbol, Cap.”

Your fingers are cold. Your tongue feels thick when you ask, “For what?”

“For your country, of course.” He straightens up and spreads his arms. “For America.”

There’s a warm glow in your chest at those words, like _America_ used to mean something to you, still means something. You look up at him and he nods at you in approval.

“The thing is,” he says, leaning closer again. “This country has enemies, Captain. We are in a war like we’ve never been in before – there are people who would try to destroy us from inside out.”

There’s something cold in your heart, because how can they, how _dare_ they try to bring down something great and pure, something that’s to be protected at all costs.

“Who,” you say, and your voice shakes. “Who are they?”

He smiles – slowly, widely. “I’ll show you.”

———

They dress you in red, white, and blue. There’s a star on your shield when they sling it onto your back.

Someone shouts, “Let’s hear it for Captain America,” and they laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

———

The first time you get a kill order you refuse. “This isn’t justice,” you say, looking down at the file: a man, glasses sliding down his nose and grinning into the camera. “It’s not.”

He looks at you and his eyes and mouth are disappointed. “We are the last line of justice,” he tells you. “Traitors are everywhere, and our systems are failing. I’ve told you before, Captain,” he puts a hand on your shoulder, “we are at war. So what are you prepared to do?”

You drop your glance and notice that the picture has changed; the man’s mouth is still wide but there’s something in his eyes that raises the hairs on the back of your neck.

You straighten under his gaze and say crisply, “Yes, sir.”

He grasps your shoulder tight and looks into your eyes before letting go. “I knew I could count on you.”

———

Washington, D.C. When you shoot the man his mouth falls open and blood blooms on his chest like a ragged flower. He falls forward, clutching at your arms, then slides down to the floor with a wet sound.

You settle down next to him and heave him back up as he gasps. You let his head loll back on your shoulder and you watch as his chest stops moving, as the red spreads over his breastbone. You watch him for a long time and close his eyes.

They frown when you return with the blood dry and flaking off your hands. They strap you into the chair and it hurts, it hurts but it stops the ache in your head and that means—

———

“He’s called the Winter Soldier,” he tells you. “KGB, killed three of ours in the last year and a half.”

You take the file. The Winter Soldier has a metal arm and a face covered in shadow. He is holding a rifle with both hands, one elbow cocked, and you think – you think –

“Do you hear me?” He slaps you, once, hard. “The Winter Soldier is dangerous and very, very good. You _cannot_ lose sight of the mission.”

Your mission is always the same now: eliminate the target.

“Yes, sir,” you say. Your throat is dry.

“Good,” he nods, but he looks at you like you’ve already failed.

You clench your jaw and raise your head, because you cannot, you must not—

———

The Winter Soldier lopes over the bridge toward you, and your mouth curves into a smile.

You smile and your mouth opens around – around _something_ , you are—

— _losing sight of the mission_ —

You bring up your shield, settle into a low stance. He looks at your arm and looks at you and his eyes are burning behind his goggles.

His eyes are burning behind his goggles and that scares you, because they’ve never—

— _you are losing sight_ —

He springs. His metal arm crashes into the shield with a ringing noise, and you remember, you remember what you are, what you must do—

You dive under his next lunge to ram into his stomach, roll out of the way of his descending grasp. He drops onto your legs, a fist flying forward for your shoulder.

The shield drops from your numb arm and lands several feet away. You swipe at it but he brings a knee down to the crook of your elbow.

You scream, and he looks at you.

He looks at you with eyes bluer than before, and you—

There’s a word in the back of your mouth and you reach for it—

He makes a vicious sound and lands a punch on your jaw, and you remember—

— _losing sight_ —

And you bring your knees up. He jerks off-balance and you throw yourself sideways, scrabbling for the shield with your fingertips.

He draws a knife very smoothly from his boot, and you swing your shield in its way just in time. It makes a loud clang and his eyes are furious, looking at you like—

Like—

You shove your shield. He grunts, then he’s sliding backwards, backwards—

He falls head first and you crawl to the edge. You look and you remember—

He slides into the Danube with a very quiet splash. You count onetwothree and stare at the crashing ripples and at seven a dark head bursts out of the water, a glint of an arm before they both slip under again.

The target is not dead. You know this like you know how to dodge a punch and how to throw your shield; like you know who you must obey and who you must hate.

— _the mission_ —

You report “mission incomplete”. The man’s nostrils flare white before he nods, stiffly.

They slip rubber into your mouth and you bite into it, close your eyes—

———

In Dallas there’s a woman with flowers on her dress. You break her neck before she can scream.

You swing onto the fire escape. The metal cuts into your hands and you are climbing when you see him.

You see him and you _remember_ , code name Winter Soldier mission eliminate the target eliminate eliminate—

He is lying on his stomach flat on the roof, eye pressed to the scope of a rifle. He doesn’t move and he could be dead but he’s not, he’s not—

You drop onto concrete and he turns, looks at your arm and leaps. He swings the rifle forward and it collides with the shield. The scope shatters and sends shards of glass flying.

There’s blood on his forehead but he doesn’t blink, drops the gun and comes at you with fists seeking your soft spots. You stumble back with your head down and you—

— _could do this all day all day alldaydaydayday_ —

He connects with your ribs and you’re thrown backwards. Your teeth click together and you suppress the urge to vomit, take a short deep breath.

You kick out as he circles you, aim your shield at the arc of his head. It connects with a thud, sending him sprawling on the ground, and then you are on him.

Your hands are around his throat. He is prying at your fingers with soft little grunts but it doesn’t matter. Your hands are around his throat and you squeeze as he goes limp and he looks at you with dark narrow eyes—

This is—

His head tilts back—

— _32557_ —

And you look at your whitened fingers—

His hand comes up lightning-fast to twist at your arm. You jerk and crash his head down into the concrete. There’s the sound of plastic crackling and his eyes slide closed and something is wrong, you are wrong, you cannot—

— _eliminate the target_ —

You push yourself up and look down at a crumpled form that’s too still but not nearly enough.

You take his rifle and you leave and you forget.

———

You kill a family in Los Angeles, a man in Tirana, a brother and sister in Warsaw. You know it’s not but it always feels like the first time when a life goes out from underneath your hands.

They don’t strap you down anymore when it’s time to wipe you. You grasp the arms of the chair and you don’t scream.

———

You are crouched on a roof in Zurich when the Winter Soldier comes for you, tumbling onto your back before you can unhook your shield. His fist crashes into it once, twice, the vibrations rattling through your teeth. You spin and catch his arm the third time he tries, follow through to knock him off his feet, and he goes flying head first to the ground.

When he gets back up his mask is gone and he’s wiping blood off his mouth. He bares red-streaked teeth and looks at your arm and you—

— _don’t win the war ‘til I_ —

You shake your head and he comes at you low and fast. Your shield arm comes up and you block him on instinct but your vision is gray and your heart is loud in your ear—

You are falling backwards. You twist and land on one elbow, shake your head again because something is wrong and there is a word at the back of your mouth—

He is coming for you when you bring your hands up and slide off your cowl. He looks at your arm and looks at you, and his hands are down and his mouth is open when he slams into you.

“Who,” he rasps, scrabbling to his feet, “who, _who_ —”

You look at him and look at him and you say, “Bucky.”

And you remember—

— _the mission_ —

He looks at you and looks at your arm. His teeth are still pink when he shouts, “No,” throws himself forward to batter at the shield, but his hands are uncoordinated and he is breathing hard.

You hit him hard and quick in the midriff. He stumbles into you, grabs you around the neck as you both go down.

There’s metal at your throat. You kick out but it only keeps tightening, and you’re making small ragged noises now, fingers clicking uselessly on his arm—

He lets you go. He lets you down onto the ground and touches your forehead, looks at your face.

You try to snap up but he leaps backwards out of reach. He looks at you and looks at your arm, brows drawing together, and takes another step back.

By the time you get to your feet he’s already gone over the edge of the roof. You lie on your stomach and look down, run your tongue over your teeth and say, “Bucky.”

———

You wake up with a name on your tongue and choke it back down. The man looks at you, sighing, and takes your face in his hands.

“Cap,” he says, disappointment in every line of his face. “I hear you’ve been giving tech some problems.”

They’d tried to push you into the chair, but there was a name and there was a face and it was wrong, _something was wrong_ —

“How can you serve this country if you act out like this?” he asks, holding a file out of your reach. “Will you behave yourself this time?”

There’s a name and there’s a face and there is ringing in your ear. You shake it all away and nod, watch him smile.

———

Sometimes, you’re not fast enough. Sometimes, your targets look at you with whitened faces and say, “Please,” trembling.

All you can see is the red in their files, their betrayal neatly spelled out. You look down at them and you hate them, heavy and hard in your chest.

The feeling only fades when you pull the trigger.

———

Even when it’s cold and dark and you have nothing, there’s a name, and a face.

———

It’s easy to break into the apartment in Chicago, but you don’t find your target. Instead you find—

— _there’s a name_ —

The Winter Soldier shakes ragged hair out of his eyes. You throw your shield at him but he snatches it out of the air, discards it on the floor and stalks toward you like something wild.

“I know you,” he says, unexpectedly quiet.

You duck his first punch and aim for his face, but he dodges sideways and clips your shoulder. You stagger into a lamp; there’s a loud crash, and the room goes dark.

You drop into a crouch, willing your vision to clear. There’s a whirring sound to your left and you turn, squint at a form weaving against the gloom and spring up.

You ram into the wall and then he is on you, one hand at your throat and his body pressed against yours.

“Who are you,” he growls.

You stamp on his foot but he only shuffles closer, crashing your legs together.

And there’s a name, and a face, and he’s shaking you like you have the answers—

You turn your head to sink your teeth into the exposed part of his forearm. There’s blood in your mouth and on your tongue but he doesn’t let go, and you don’t let go.

Then he drops his forehead onto your shoulder and lets out a rattling breath, says “Steve” like it means something—

—there’s a name, and a face, and he says _Steve_ like it means something—

You raise your head. You feel the warmth of his breath on your neck and something’s stirring low in your belly—

Your eyes close when he bites at your lip. You can still taste metal and don’t know if it’s his blood or yours.

There’s a touch at your hip, cool metal brushing against the skin under your uniform. You shiver, try to jam your knee into him but he’s too close, too close too close with his groin pressing against your thigh.

“Steve?” he says again.

“I want—“ you croak, and that must be enough, because there’s a hand – rough, warm – plunging into your underwear.

He strokes you slowly, drawing low noises out of your throat, and all you know is the hand on your cock and the metal anchoring your hip, the surprised sound he makes when you slide your thigh more firmly between his legs—

There’s a name at the back of your mouth. You say “ _Bucky_ ” like it means something as you shudder and come into his hand, and he says “yes, yes, yes.”

———

 _Steve_ , you think, and it sounds like it might fit you in a way “Captain America” never quite did.

———

You are in Philadelphia waiting for a woman.

You are in Philadelphia and you think about the itch in your trigger finger, the anger sparking under your skin. You think about the way he—

You think about the way _Bucky_ had touched you and how for a moment you had felt nothing but him, his skin on your skin and his name in your mouth.

There's a name, and a face, and they keep coming to you when you close your eyes; when you let out a breath.

The lock on the front door clicks. The door opens. There’s the clack of footsteps and then finally, a person in front of you.

You bring you hand up—

—there’s a name, and a face—

—and you look at her and you put a hand over her mouth and you _do not know why you are here_.

Mission: eliminate the target.

But why—

— _traitors, Cap_ —

—but there’s a name, and a face, and he’d called you _Steve_.

The woman is moving underneath your fingers and you press down harder, because something is wrong; your head aches and there is a name and _something is wrong_ —

—there are those who would destroy us—

—who are you—

—hear it for Captain America—

— _Steve_ —

— _there are men laying down their lives_ —

You look down at the woman. There are bruises on her jaw and her chest is very still.

“No,” you say, too loud in the cold room. “No, please.”

———

You don’t go back. Your hands shake until you dig into your forearm and dig out something dark and hard. You crush it between your fingers and it’s still sparking when you drop it to the ground.

You don’t feel any warmer but your name is _Steve_ and you are you, and that’s a start.

———

The stones at the graveyard are very, very white. You look down at the straight-edged letters, open your mouth and close it again.

There are flowers in your hand. You get down onto your knees, press them to the base of the grave.

“I’m so sorry,” you say. The words come out just as rough and cold as the stone under your fingers. “God, I—”

You bite your lip, too hard, and something red drops onto the white. You wipe it away with a careful thumb, stand up a little too quickly.

Your face is wet when you touch it.

———

There are stories about you.

You read them in the back of quiet libraries, squinting at faded and browning microfilm: headlines you don’t remember and pictures you don’t remember. They talk about Captain America, hero of the nation, and you don’t feel like it at all.

Then, too, there are stories of death and mourning and a killer never found, and you don’t remember that either. You read the names over and over, until you can feel each and every one of them settle into your mind, whisper into your ear and demand justice.

And sometimes, in the corner of Captain America’s story, there’s a face, and a name — and you remember.

———

Their name is HYDRA.

Their name is HYDRA and you hate them, hot and bright in your throat.

———

“Ah.” The man looks at you, and blinks. Then he says in a loud voice. “Good that you’ve come in, you’ve been remiss in your duties. Your country needs you, Captain.”

You look at him and you want—

You think about stepping forward, baring your forearm and letting them put their cold hands on you, press you into the chair—

But he calls you _Captain_ , and that means something dark and rotten now: fear and death and a white, white gravestone, the legacy of Captain America.

“Steve,” you tell him. “My name is Steve.”

He’s not looking at you when you snap his neck.

———

You step out of the burnt out HYDRA base in Berlin, and there’s someone waiting for you, hollow-eyed and jaw dark with stubble.

Your mouth curves into a smile, and it feels right, it feels _good_ ; you clear your throat and look at him and say, “Bucky.”

“I remember you,” Bucky says. He looks at you and looks at your arm and he’s blinking in wonder. “Steve.”

———

You go, together, to Brooklyn.

———

“It doesn’t—I don’t remember this,” Bucky says helplessly.

You look out the small apartment window, trying to match the tall bright buildings to half-remembered pieces in your head.

“Me neither.” You draw back into the dimly-lit room. “I think. It’s changed. Everything’s changed.”

Bucky puts his metal hand on your shoulder. “Everything,” he echoes, and his fingers press hard into your skin.

You take his hand and you look at him. “But I remember you,” you say. Your voice is trembling.

He looks at your hand on his, and he looks at you, and the line of his mouth softens.

“Did it.” You grasp his hand even more tightly. “Did it hurt?”

He doesn’t say a word, but his shoulders draw upwards and his gaze drops.

“Oh,” you say very softly. You tug him down to the floor and press him down, down, down, until you’re lying on top of him. The arm is cold under your lips and you breathe out, watch it gather on the metal and wipe it clean again with a careful tongue.

“That feels...different,” Bucky says in a rough voice. “Strange.”

You keep going, until the arm is bright and warm to the touch, and Bucky’s arching under you with bitten-off moans.

“Steve,” he says, “please, I need—I need—”

So you undo his pants, and yours, grasp both your cocks in your hand and start to move. He pulls you down to leave hot teethmarks on the curve of your shoulder and you shiver at the warmth of his breaths on your skin, gasp, “ _Bucky_.”

“Yeah, Steve,” he says, “it’s me, it is,” and when he comes his mouth is open and he’s looking at you, just you.

———

“I thought Captain America would take you from me,” Bucky rasps. The sun’s going down and the sweat is cooling on your skin. “I hated him.”

You touch his face and taste his name in your mouth. “Yeah, Bucky,” you say. “Yeah, me too.”


End file.
